


Liar

by monsterkiss



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterkiss/pseuds/monsterkiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she cycles through the possibilities, one face always comes back to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liar

With her smart glasses and neat tie she looks ever so clever, and she taps one long red nail against the desk to perfectly complete the picture. It’s not any more forced than being hot or cold, or the sudden feeling of dizziness at high altitude.

Sayaka dances across the screen of the laptop, peppy and bouncy, singing the sugar-pop words as if every breath was her last. Her friends are all the right kinds of manufactured cute and assisted voice, but she eclipses them utterly. The blue glow of the screen in the dark sets off the pinks of their little dresses wonderfully.

Not for the first time, Junko realises how much she wants her to break. It’s a normal desire, she supposes, for the counter-culture Gal to want to see the pure, perfect Idol fall. But there’s something more there, something personal. the thought of Sayaka’s face bleeding under her boot, or the girl’s hands wrapped around her throat, either way. It’s the desperation she wants to see. The proof that it was Junko Enoshima who shattered something so beautiful and pristine.

Which is a terrible thought. It doesn’t at all fit the perfectly formed image of the moment, and if she herself were to play at the physical arts as well as the psychological, well, Mukuro would have nothing at all to make her stand out. It would be so horrible to have nothing worthwhile about oneself, no reason to exist, no reason for anyone to look or care.

She suspects that Maizono would agree, at least privately. Her carefully constructed persona would never allow her to say it aloud. But it _is_ there. She searches for it in the pixelated face, suddenly hungry for that flash of fear, that moment of truth underneath the layers of fabrication.

Nothing. She might have been sugar all the way down to the bone. Suddenly the cute nerd skin doesn’t fit right, and she whips the glasses off her face, thrashes her hair into angry snarls, leans in to growl at the screen.

It was there. She hadn’t been wrong. The tiny doubt that would bloom into a wonderful despair. The pop idol so drugged on her own dreams. The desperate desire to cling to what would always be a transitory life. So highly strung that one slip would be enough to pull the world out from under her and tighten the noose around her neck. Or someone’s neck, anyway.

It wouldn’t even matter if she succeeded, the second that mask cracked it would never be truly whole again. The sculpted idol would shatter, and she would never not be the girl who killed for her own selfish dream. The perfect idol scheming and violent and bloodied.

Yes, she was sure of it now. Sayaka _would_ kill for it. As the time came closer and closer she’d started to worry that she’d misjudged them, that no amount of motivation or goading would ever elevate them beyond scared, soft little schoolchildren. There was nothing worse than a story without any stakes.

(Although there would always be stakes, and they were hers, and they loomed far larger than her own little life).

But Sayaka wouldn’t let her down. Sayaka would provide that not-quite satisfaction, that miserable rush, that connection to something bigger than all of them.  
Sayaka smiles and waves brightly into the crowd, bubbly and content and everything pure in the world, and Junko presses a perfect lipstick print onto the screen and whispers, “liar.”


End file.
